Gail sat in front of the mirror in her room, brushing her hair over and over again, hoping to calm herself with the repetitive motion. Still, her hands held memories from the hours she had spent tending to him, touching him in ways she would have sworn she never could. She could still feel the weight of his head against her bossom, the low hum of his breath.

Yes, she had fled at that moment before she could cross a line. But the memory refused to leave her alone, it pricked like a thorn, sharp ...